WINDOWS: A BROKEN FAIRY TALE

WINDOWS:
A BROKEN FAIRY TALE

By
Casey Bramble

Copyright
2013

No
part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
articles and reviews.

To Sophie for keeping us safe, even
when we didn’t know it.

To Purity for being the most
vile-tempered, evil, snot-nosed, bratty, annoying, pesky and wonderful big
sister ever.

And to her, for everything.

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1: THE MEETING

CHAPTER 2: A GAMBLE

CHAPTER 3: RICH AND FAMOUS

CHAPTER 4: FLAMINGOS AT A BALL

CHAPTER 5: GOING HOME

CHAPTER 6: WICKED SISTERS

CHAPTER 7: WICKED STEP-MOTHER

CHAPTER 8: WELCOME HOME

CHAPTER 9: GRAND OPENING

CHAPTER 10: SCHEMES

CHAPTER 11: JUST A LIL’BIT

CHAPTER 12: A SIMPLE NIGHT OUT

CHAPTER 13: NIGHTMARES COME TRUE

CHAPTER 14: NO GOOD-BYES

CHAPTER 15: THE RESCUE

CHAPTER 16: THE EYES HAVE IT

CHAPTER 17: A TRIAL

CHAPTER 18: AN UNBREACHABLE WALL

CHAPTER 19: PUMPKINS AT A PARTY

CHAPTER 20: CALM BEFORE THE STORM

CHAPTER 21: TRAITORS

CHAPTER 22: ESCAPE

CHAPTER 23: THE RAGING STORM

CHAPTER 24: NEVER AFTER

CHAPTER 25: BEGINNING OF THE END

CHAPTER 26: MATRICIDE

CHAPTER 27: A LOSING BATTLE

CHAPTER 28: DARKNESS FALLS

CHAPTER 29: TRUE LOVES KISS

CHAPTER 30: JUST THE BEGINNING

PROLOGUE

Once upon a time
there lived a beautiful woman.
 
Isn’t
that how all great stories are supposed to start?
 
Well there might have been a beautiful woman
somewhere in the world then, odds are pretty good that there were, but they’re
not part of this story.

Once upon a time
there lived an average looking woman; not ugly but she wouldn’t stop a carriage
in its tracks.
 
This woman had a child
but no husband.
 
The daughter, a
precocious and temperamental sprite, had flaming red hair like her father and a
knack for getting into trouble.

The woman was very
concerned.
 
Despite all the doctors tried
she didn’t have long to live and no idea who would look after her little
girl.
 
With great sadness she wrote a letter
to the girl’s father, a man she’d not seen in almost three years.
 
The child wasn’t chosen and he was a good, honest
man by all accounts.
 
He would not leave
the poor thing alone.

Her mind finally
at ease, the woman fell asleep and never awoke.
 
But she passed from the world secure in the belief that she had done the
best she could.

The sun crowned
three mountains in flaming glory as a horse drawn carriage pulled to a stop in
front of a looming castle.
 
Summer dust
stirred by passing wheels drifted lazily in the humid evening and insects
strummed a twilight melody in shadowy woods a short distance away.
 
The driver hopped down from his seat and swung
open the passenger door.
 
A girl, thin
and redheaded, took the old man’s gnarled and wrinkled hand.
 
Shuffling ungainly on arthritic hips, he
marched his young ward up the steps and told her to stand still.
 
She did as she was told, large green eyes
glancing around with unabashed curiosity at the lengthening shadows.

           
“I’ll
never get home for supper now”, the old man groused as he banged impatiently on
the door.
 
Soon a bolt could be heard
sliding open and a large figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, demanding to
know what was so important.

           
“I
was told to deliver this to you.”
 
The
driver answered, trying his hardest not to stare at the scar across the other
man’s cheek.

           
The
muscular man in a dark grey suit glanced over the driver’s shoulder and almost
missed the girl at first.
 
Her black
dress blended with the deepening gloom; only a pale, oval face and letter stuck
to her dress were visible.
 

           
“We’re
not an orphanage.”
 
The Man said curtly.

           
The
driver shuffled his feet, trying to avoid the stern gaze.
 
“Of course not, sir, of course not, but I was
told to deliver this package to the estate of Thomas Chandlish.
 
That’s what I’ve done.”
  
With a deep bow he lurched back to his
carriage.
 
Before the large man could
stop him, with the sharp crack of a whip the carriage faded into the gloom.

           
The
large man turned and looked down at the little girl.
 
A pair of emerald eyes stared back with
quizzical interest.
 
Not seeing any other
choice he brought her inside to stand in the hallway while he searched for some
help.

After he was gone,
she studied her surroundings.
 
Her mind
couldn’t yet grasp the concept of expensive but she knew pretty when she saw it
and decided that this place was very pretty.
 
So pretty in fact, this was probably where they had brought Mama.
 
Mama was sick but the people said Mama went
to a place where she wouldn’t be sick anymore.
 
Nobody could be sick in a place like this.
 
The little girl’s eyes sparkled.
 
The people had told her that she would see
Mama some day so here she was.
 
The child
smiled happily.
 
She would see Mama and
they’d be together again.

           
Soon
she heard the big Man coming and saw a woman with him.
 
Mama, she thought excitedly but the woman
wasn’t Mama.
 
Instead, a very pretty
woman followed the man.
 
The woman
stopped in front of the child and unpinned the note from her chest and read it
silently.
 
As she finished, the Lady
pressed a hand to her mouth.

           
The
Man took the note from the Lady’s and quickly scanned it.
 
“What are we going to do with her?”
 
He asked.

           
“Put
her in the servant’s quarters for the night.
 
Have them feed her and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
 
As the Lady turned to leave, the little girl
saw two faces that had been peeking around the corner dart back into hiding.

           
The
Man rang a bell and almost immediately an old woman appeared at his side.
 
The two spoke to quietly for the girl to hear
but she wasn’t really interested anyway.
 
She decided that Mama was playing the hidey game like they used to so
she went looking.
 
The child had made it
into an open room-- it was dark so it seemed like a good hiding spot-- when the
old woman swooped in and picked her up.

           
“Mama?”
 
The little girl asked, still looking around
the dark room.

           
The
old woman told her that they would find her mama later but for now would the
girl like to get something to eat?
 
The
girl nodded, rather unenthusiastically.

           
The
next day she was taken to another room, this one full of books.
 
The big Man and pretty Lady were in there to
and they were talking loudly while she stood between them calmly sucking her
thumb.
 
The two faces the little girl had
seen last night were peeking around another corner, whispering to each
other.
 
The little girl wanted to wave
but knew they were hiding from the big people.

           
“You
know what she is.”
 
The Man was
saying.
 
The little girl didn’t like it
when he sounded mad.

           
“Yes,
I know very well what she is.
 
She is
Thomas’s daughter.”
 
The woman also
sounded mad which the little girl liked even less.

           
“Think
rationally.
 
We have to send her away.”

           
The
Lady nodded slowly.
 
“I suppose you’re
right.”

           
“NO!”
 
The scream startled the two big people and
they turned as one of the faces came running into the room.
 
This one had also had red hair and stood
protectively in front of the little girl, arms stretched out wide.

           
“Rebekah,
what are you doing in here?”
 
The Lady asked,
not sounding mad anymore.
 
She stared down
at the two girls who had just rushed in.
 
“And you too, Felicity?”

           
“You
can’t send her away.
 
She’s my little sister!”

           
“Rebekah,
you have a little sister on the way.”
 
The Lady patted her swollen stomach.
 
“We won’t have room for another.”

           
Rebekah
was determined and stomped her foot to prove it.
 
“She’s my little sister and she can stay in
my room.”

           
“Your
mother said no, Rebekah.”
 
The large Man
bent over to grab the little girl but Rebekah screeched and kicked him in the
shin.
 
The little girl decided this
looked like fun so she kicked the man too.
  
Then the man grabbed Rebekah and she started crying.
 
The little girl didn’t like that so she did
what she could.
 
Opening her mouth really
wide, she bit down hard on the hand holding her.
 
The big man yelled and tried to shake her off
but the little girl held tight.

           
The
big man dropped the older girl and tried to pry the jaws of the smaller one
open but before he could the now freed Rebekah dove into his knees, knocking
him backwards onto a couch.

           
The
two girls darted behind the pretty Lady’s legs.
 
They stuck their heads and their tongues out at the big man who was
getting very red in the face.
          

The Lady put a
hand over her mouth to catch the laughter.
 
“Very well, Rebekah, she may stay with us but don’t you want to know her
name?”
 

Rebekah
nodded.
 

“Her name is
Branwyen.” The little girl looked up at the sound of her name, wondering how
the pretty Lady knew it.

Rebekah tried saying
the name.
 
“Bran-ween.
 
Bra-neen.
 
What does it mean?”
 
She asked,
giving up.

“It means White Raven.”

Rebekah turned to
the little girl and stuck out her hand, “Hi, Raven, I’m your big sister
Rebekah.”

“Bekah!”
 
Raven smiled happily, taking the offered
hand.

Bekah rolled her
eyes with the annoyance only older siblings can feel and muttered, “You got
slobber on me.”

The other girl,
this one with dark brown hair like the Lady, came over and tried to take
Raven’s other hand.
 
“It’s a pleasure to
meet you Branwyen; I’m your oldest sister Felicity.”

A look of pure
bewilderment clouded Raven’s young features as she stared at the dark haired
girl for a second before shaking her head, “Lizzy.”
 
Then she hugged Bekah tightly, “Sissy!”

“That’s right,
Sis.”
 
Bekah grinned.
 
“Now let’s go to our room.”

CHAPTER ONE: THE MEETING

           
Light filtered through large stained glass
windows, three on each side of the room, casting multicolored hues in the chamber.
 
A collection of pictures adorned the stone
walls and the largest, a portrait of a beautiful woman with auburn red hair,
rested in a place of honor above the fireplace.
 
A gilded plaque, reflecting the light of the windows, winked brightly
from underneath. “Sis” read the inscription if anyone bothered to get close
enough to look, though no one ever did.
 
Two other pictures, one of a dark haired beauty and the other a cute
redheaded girl sat on either side.
 
“Liz”
and “Mandy” read their name plates.
 
Closer
inspection showed similar plaques beneath the other paintings but some had been
tarnished over, their names lost.
 
Other
portraits appeared smudged, a few almost unrecognizable.

           
A woman in her early twenties, with
flaming red hair a few shades lighter than the one in the portrait above the
fire, bustled about the cheery room humming to herself.
 
First she sat in a comfortable looking high
back chair in front of the fire.
 
Then
she strolled over to a rather large book case on the right side of the room,
selected a tome and tossed it aside after reading a few pages.
 
Amazingly the book didn’t hit the floor but
floated to its normal resting spot.
 
The
girl spun a few times, dancing to a song that started playing, the tune coming
from nowhere and everywhere at once.

           
Abruptly she and the music
stopped.
 
Warily she kept an eye on a large,
shapeless shadow in the back of the room as an inky tendril snaked along the
floor.
 
It wrapped itself around a
dangling cord near the farthest window.
 
A heavy shutter swung into place, dimming the light.
 
The tendril hung suspended for a moment,
twisting back and forth, searching for something.
 
Reluctantly it coiled back into the darkness
that spawned it as hollow laughter echoed from the walls.

           
After a tense moment, the redhead
turned her back on the shadow and stoked the fire.
 
Heat warmed the chilly room but its light did
nothing to penetrate the encroaching gloom.
 
She knew what was back there hidden in the shadows.
 
Years before there were eight windows in her
solitary quarters.
 
Eight brightly lit
portals into the outside world that she could enjoy at leisure.
 
Now there were six left; five if --like the
first two-- she couldn’t get this one to open again.

           
With a melancholy sigh the music
started once more and the girl resumed her dance.

           
Thunder
crashed loud enough for the young woman to feel it in her bones as she bounded
up the steps.
 
Cold ran stung her exposed
face like a hundred needles and the roaring wind nearly jerked the door out of
her hand as she struggled to pull it open.
 
She probably should have broken down and paid for a carriage but the
storm hadn’t been this bad when she left the shop.
 
Besides, that would cost money, something she
was constantly short of these days.
  
After
tugging the door closed and peeling off the saturated jacket, she looked
around.
 
This was the place she was
supposed to be meeting her perspective business partner; a regular tavern
filled with loud men and painted ladies hanging on their every word hoping to
find a warm bed for the night.
 
The bar
running along the right wall wore its deep gouges like a badge of honor;
 
heavily lacquered wounds a testament to the
violence seen throughout the many years. Lamps dangling from the ceiling cast an
uneven, shaky glow over the interior.
 
The dimness meant that the lights were candles, not magic and this
particular business wasn’t under the thumb of the Protectorate, yet.
 
Years ago the self-appointed guardians of
Vestavia outlawed any use of magic by businesses they didn’t control.
 

She barely paid
attention to the details.
 
Earlier in the
week someone with an interest in her blacksmithing skills had contacted her;
someone willing to pay top dollar for the swords and armor her smithy could
provide.
 
Finally she could make some
real money, if the meeting went well.

           
Scanning
the room, slate colored eyes spotted the person they were searching for.
 
  
Near
the back, a ginger haired woman about the same age as herself sat alone.
 
She was dressed entirely in purple and her
head bopped up and down like she was listening to music.
 

Putting on her
most business like smile, she stepped forward to meet her prospective
partner.
 
Stopping just in front of the
table she extended her hand.
 
“It’s nice
to meet you,” she said in a firm but friendly tone, “I’m Sarah Petty.”

           
The
redhead grinned up, and Sarah used the moments pause to get a closer look.
 
The first thing anybody would notice was the
skin; pale, almost translucent, its clarity broken only by a smattering of
freckles.
 
Red hair fell to her shoulders
in waves, framing a thin but very pretty face, with a straight nose and soft
lips that turned up at the corners.
 
Light
green eyes sparkled with laughter at some private joke.
 
Then the redhead reached her own hand out and
clasped Sarah’s tightly.
 
Despite her
appearance, Sarah noted, this woman worked hard.
 
Her hands were strong and not nearly as soft
as one would expect at first glance.

           
“Howdy
Sarah, I’m Raven White.
 
Have a seat and
we’ll see about getting something in your stomach.”
 
The woman greeted in return.
  

           
Sarah
took the offered chair and glanced over the menu.
 
When she decided, she motioned the waitress
over.
 
“I’ll have the baked chicken with
mashed potatoes and a glass of water to drink, please.”

           
The
waitress turned to Raven who ordered a burger and a side of fries.
 
“And bring me another glass of milk too,
please.
 
Thanks.”
 
Raven handed the waitress both menus with the
same smile she had been wearing the whole time.

           
After
the waitress brought their drinks, Sarah wasted no time beginning the
meeting.
 
“Ms. White, you contacted me
about possibly becoming partners in a new business.
 
You were not very clear on exactly what you
need or how you came to have an interest in my skills as a blacksmith.”

           
Raven
leaned back in her chair and studied Sarah’s face for a moment.
 
Then she laughed, “First off, we’re pals so
call me Raven.
 
Secondly, I picked you
because of this.”
 
With deftness born of
familiarity, the redhead drew a sword out of the scabbard beside the table.
 
Sarah recognized it as one she made, a katana
with a conspiracy of ravens intricately carved into the hilt guard.
 
About three feet long and well balanced with
some scratches on the blade.
 
It was nice
but hardly her best work.
  

“Sis picked this
up for me about a year ago.
 
Some sort of
flea market I recall.”
 
Raven put the
sword safely back in its resting place.
 
Nobody in the bar paid any attention to the weapon being drawn.
 
“Been trying like heck to find out who made
it ever since.”

           
“So
you decided after seeing one sword I made that I was a good blacksmith?” Sarah
inquired.

           
Raven
smirked, “Nah that would make me silly.
 
I decided you were a good blacksmith after seeing this particular
sword.
 
It just happens to be my
favorite.”

           
Smiling
despite herself, Sarah took a sip of water.
 
“Raven,” she began, “I appreciate the compliment but have you thought
this venture through?
 
You mentioned that
you live in Valentria and that is a five day ride by train.
 
It would require a great deal of time and
money just to transport my goods to your shop.
 
Exactly how much will you be charging people for weapons and armor?”

           
Leaning
forward with her elbows on the table, Raven rested her chin on clasped
hands.
 
After looking Sarah over
curiously, she clucked, “Tell me about your self.”

           
“What
is it you want to know, exactly?”
 
Sarah
felt somewhat annoyed that her questions were ignored.
          

 
“How is it an attractive young lady finds
herself working as a blacksmith?
 
Not
exactly a popular vocational choice among our gender.”

           
A
little unnerved with those dazzling emeralds that seemed to be staring through her,
Sarah took another sip of water.
 
“My
mother died when I was six, then it was just dad and me.
 
He was a blacksmith of some renown but his
political views kept him from making much money.”

           
“Political
views?”

           
Sarah
nodded, “He was against the Protectorate forcing their ideas onto everybody
else.
 
He refused their offer for
protection and since, according to the law, only Protectorate sponsored shops
are allowed to sell merchandise within the city, he was forced to take menial
task, like shoeing horses, to make ends meet.
 
He couldn’t hire any help so I did what I could.
 
He taught me the trade because we couldn’t
afford college, and I just wound up doing what I know best.”

           
Sarah’s
life story was interrupted by the waitress bringing their food.

           
After
dinner Raven ordered both of them a slice of boysenberry pie for dessert and
picked up the conversation.
 
“Where does
your dad live now?”
                

Sarah lowered her
eyes, “He passed away two years ago.”
  

Raven reached over
and gave her hand a friendly squeeze. “Sorry for your loss.
 
The way you talk about him, I can tell you
cared a great deal for each other.”

The blonde smiled
her thanks as the waitress brought out their dessert and ticket.
 
When they finished, Raven grabbed the
check.
 
Sarah complained that since Raven
was the guest in town, she should pay.
 
Acting like she hadn’t heard, Raven handed the waitress fifty gullions,
more than double the cost of the meal.
 
The waitress and Sarah blinked at the generosity.

“I want to see
your shop, Sarah.
 
Why don’t we run over
there real quick?”

As they reached
the coat rack, Sarah pulled hers on but noticed Raven didn’t have one.
 
“Didn’t you wear a jacket?
 
The storm is pretty bad.”

Raven gave an
impish grin, said they had a lot to talk about, and ducked into the howling maelstrom.
 

Once outside,
Raven went straight to a car where a man was holding open the back door.
 
Ferocious winds tugged at her jacket and beads
of water ran down Sarah’s face in streams as she stood staring in shock.
 
Cars weren’t really uncommon in Vestavia but
only the upper class could afford them.

“You coming or
not?”
 
A flash of lightening and
tremendous crash of thunder helped make the decision for her, but Sarah figured
this was part of what they needed to talk about and climbed in.

After a short
ride, with Sarah doing her best not to puddle on the leather seats, they pulled
to a stop in front of a weather beaten building.
 
Even through the driving rain it was obvious the
shop had seen better days.
 
Raven opened
her door and both women dashed up the steps.
 

Sarah walked into
the room, the only light coming from a small lamp in the corner.
 
She bent down and began fussing with the
fireplace, water dripping from her hair onto the matches.
 
After a few sparking failures she muttered
about it not being all that cold.

 
“Stand back a little bit,” Raven told Sarah,
“I think I can help.”

Sarah backed away
and turned to her guest, who was calmly holding her left hand out, palm up and
pointing towards the fireplace.
 
Raven flicked
something invisible.